Overcomplicated

Lately I have been talking with folks about various things.  I guess it is the time of year to be talking about people getting "stuff".  It amazes me.  You got people getting up at 3 a.m. to hit all of these sales to get the best prices on "stuff".  We go to great lengths to get stuff for people.  I'm not making any statements in particular about anyone specific, I am just making a generalized thought.  
This society of selfish, ego-enhancer, self worshippers is bent on getting more stuff to satisfy their longing to be better than the person next door, or to fill a void in their life, or to just pacify them until the final bell tolls.  We have to buy tupperware bins to put all of our stuff in.  We add on rooms to give us more room to store our stuff.  We buy bigger houses to make more room for our stuff.  We rent storage building space to make room for our stuff that we can't part with.  I was one of those people, I guess to an extent, sometimes I still am on certain things.  I got a phone call from my mom who is cleaning out my grandparents' old smoke house.  It had been used as a storage place for some of my old toys (see "stuff" mentioned above).  She told me about all of the G.I. Joe/Transformer/Star Wars toys that were in these garbage bags.  I think I wanted toys to pacify myself.  Now I am going to be putting them all up on Craigslist soon to make a few bucks on them.  Maybe enough to pay for my gas to go pick them up.  I say all that to say this:
We have too much stuff.  I have realized now (in my old age) that kids don't need more junk to fill their closet or toy box.  They don't need the latest and greatest gadget or toy.  I would have been much more happy to have spent more time with my parents or grandparents.  I don't remember playing with the fighter jet from G.I. Joe, but I sure remember the smell of the freshly cut grass at the house while mom and I threw a white football with blue and red stripes on it.  I buy my oldest child a toy, and he is extremely happy for a about 30 minutes before he yells, "Daddy, try again!" to which my only response is to get up and chase him through the house.  Upon catching him, it is tickle time.  Whether he remembers it or not years down the road, you can count on me not forgetting it.
So in conclusion, it really isn't the gift, it is the giver.  At Christmas time when I was a kid, I don't think time ever crept by so slow as that time when we got together until the time after dinner when we opened presents.  It seemed like my family had 14 meals in that short time which seemed like eternity.  Now, there's no price I wouldn't pay to talk to my grandparents again.  To tell them how much they meant to me.  That they can keep their toys, just let my Paw Paw Gladden tell me that he is proud of me, or to see my Granny Cook sitting on the arm of the recliner where my Paw Paw Cook is looking up at her intently.  That is what this young generation needs.